


Moonlight Sonata

by TaleWeaver



Series: The Strange Case of Dr Stark and Mr Snow [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Exhibitionism;, F/M, Jekyll and Hyde, Married Jonsa, Semi-Public Sex, but she's up for the challenge, jon was adopted by benjen stark, though Sansa got more than she bargained for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24913192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaleWeaver/pseuds/TaleWeaver
Summary: Jon and Sansa attend the Hightower's ball, and Mr Snow proves he has limited tolerance for the Polite World. Or Joffrey Baratheon.Written for jonsadungeonsanddragons kink week 2020 for day 5: Exhibitionism
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: The Strange Case of Dr Stark and Mr Snow [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796692
Comments: 9
Kudos: 97
Collections: JonsaKinks





	Moonlight Sonata

**Author's Note:**

> Historical notes: for anyone who cares, the Perseus statue is a fairly good copy of Perseus with the head of Medusa by Benvenuto Cellini, without the panels in the base. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Perseus_with_the_Head_of_Medusa)
> 
> ‘wag-tail’ is Victorian slang for a promiscuous woman or sometimes a dissolute man.
> 
> Story title comes, of course, from the nickname of Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 14 in C♯ minor "Quasi una fantasia", Op. 27, No. 2

The Hightower’s ball was an absolute _crush_. The retiring room held and regurgitated a steady stream of ladies, gentlemen gambled for increasing stakes in the card room, and the buffet had been refreshed once already. The ballroom glowed with golden light from the chandeliers, and the music flowed from the string quartet’s instruments like water.

Sansa Stark was no stranger to scandal, but dancing exclusively with her own husband was raising more than a few speculative eyebrows among the grand dames.

“Jon, what are you thinking?” Sansa asked warily. Something in Jon’s gaze had become suspiciously dark, harkening something that should really be kept inside their own house. Or least places without witnesses.

“Joffrey Baratheon keeps _looking at you_.”

“We’re at a ball, Jon, lots of people are looking at me,” Sansa pointed out evenly. She snuck a glance at her husband as she turned under his arm; to her dismay, the waves of his close-cut hair were already tightening into riotous curls.

“Not like this. I think I’ll grab a toasting fork from the fireplace in the card room and shove it into his throat.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Jon was growling, now; Sansa had to defuse him quickly.

“Because if you do that you’ll have to spend hours explaining yourself to the police and you won’t be able to bed me until at least dawn.”

Several bars of music went past, as Jon considered that. “That’s a very good point. When this dance is through, go into the gardens. I’ll meet you there.”

“Why not come with me?”

“I want to see if Baratheon follows you. If I kill him out there I can roll the body into the fishpond and the police won’t bother us.”

Sansa bit back a sigh. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to sacrifice this gown in order to distract Snow - it was a favourite of hers. But she really couldn’t let him go around killing men for looking at her lustfully. Even if it _was_ generally agreed that a world without Joffrey Baratheon could only be a better place.

As the music came to an end, Sana gently curtsied to her husband, then bent her head to murmur to him, “I’m only going so far as statue of Perseus. Meet me quickly or you won’t be allowed to touch me at all in the carriage on the way home.”

There – that should reorganise his priorities.

The cold night air was a slight shock, after the heated ballroom. The gardens were more brightly lit than the ballroom by the full moon, clearly showing Sansa’s path as she walked quickly to the statue of Perseus, his head bent and eyes closed, his face serene as he brandished the head of Medusa high in the air. She sat on the stone bench next to it’s pedestal, and calmly waited for her husband. The furthest wing of the ballroom was visible from her perch, golden light spilling from all the windows, and she watched another set of figures whirl on the dance floor.

“There you are,” rumbled from behind her.

“Is Lord Baratheon still alive?” Sansa politely enquired.

“Given that I stopped him from following you out into the garden, barely. I hope you’re prepared to compensate me for the loss of that satisfaction.”

Well, at least Snow was articulate and speaking clearly tonight. Jon had explained that degradation of Snow’s speech patterns was a dangerous sign. Much as Sansa enjoyed this hedonistic, heedless aspect of her husband, she had no intention of losing the gentlemanly scholar she’d chosen to marry, long before he’d created a certain sparkling green potion.

“Is that not our agreement? I will satisfy your lusts in any way you desire, and you will confine those lusts to me alone?”

“I think we’re beyond bargains, Mrs Stark. Why don’t you start by sucking on my cock? It’s already nice and hard for you.”

Sansa turned sideways on the bench to find Snow looming over her, wild curls tumbling nearly to his shoulders and beard shadowing his jaw. The mixture of untamed man and exquisitely formal suit was devastatingly arousing. Sansa felt heat pool between her thighs as she reached for the fly of his trousers, distorted with lust as Snow had promised. A moment’s work freed his hard manhood, and Sansa bent her head to run her tongue along the length of throbbing flesh. An approving growl echoed above her head, and Sansa responded by taking the tip deep into her mouth and sucking hard.

“Take all of it,” growled the beast that dwelt inside her husband.

Sansa obeyed, skilfully taking in his sizable erection into her mouth and down her throat until her nose pressed against the black cloth of his trousers.

His organ vibrated as Snow chuckled, and Sansa’s eyes rolled up to meet his in enquiry.

“You can see into the ballroom from here, did you know that?”

Sansa quirked her eyebrows. Of course she did.

“That piss-ant Baratheon’s standing in the windows looking out at us.”

Sansa’s eyes flickered to the side, noticing how brightly the silver moonlight lit up the gardens, and realised that it must be clearly lighting their figures as well. The thrill that shuddered through her was only slightly of horror.

“Like that thought, don’t you?” Snow diagnosed accurately. “You like the thought of that shitstain watching you suck your husband’s cock.”

She did, actually. She really did. 

Sansa’s passion mounted as she sucked harder, using her tongue to tease and rub the rod of muscle to further hardness. Let her former suitor see comprehensively what he’d missed out on when he tossed her aside, leaving her reputation in ruins. Let him see why there was no chance in any of the Seven Hells that she’d ever venture outside of her marriage to the man who’d saved her social standing and restored her to respectability, and shown her a world of respect, caring and learning that she’d thought was only the province of fairy tales. The man whose dark side had taught her hungers and satisfaction that she’d only heard of in clandestine whispers.

Snow’s balls were throbbing, and Sansa grinned recklessly as she let his erection escape her mouth. “Then why don’t you show him how a real man treats his woman?”

Snow threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Aye, my beautiful wag-tail, why don’t I?”

He took her hands in his and pulled her to her feet, bringing them both to the end of the bench. Licking his lips salaciously, he ordered her, “Turn around.”

Sansa did so, positioning herself so that they were both in profile to the ballroom windows. Snow reached around to unhook her bodice almost to her waist, reaching in with his left hand. Sansa moaned as his hand delved beneath corset and chemise to cup her right breast, squeezing her hard nipple between two of his knuckles.

“Like that, don’t you.”

“You know I do.”

“Now lift your skirts good and high for me, and bend over.”

As Sansa carefully gathered layers of skirts, petticoat and chemise in her hands so as not to wrinkle them too much, she again wondered what _she_ might become if she asked her husband for a dose of the apple green potion he’d dubbed Original Sin. After all, the very first time Mr Snow had appeared, he’d ripped and sliced her drawers from her body, and ordered her to never again wear clothing that impeded his contact with her quim. No matter how mortified Jon had been the next morning, how he’d begged her forgiveness for his shameful use of her for his lusts... Sansa had not worn drawers a single day since.

Sansa bent forward over the bench, supporting herself on one arm, the other still holding her skirts bunched at her hips. She wondered if Snow could see her womanhood clearly in the brilliant silver light, see that she was wet and aching for him. She gasped as he filled her, his initial thrust swift and deep, her quim thrilling at the shock of his invasion. His shadow engulfed hers, swallowing the white stone of the bench as he bent over her, and Sansa gazed down into the darkness as he set a rapid pace, barely withdrawing as he rolled his hips to bury his cock in her molten core again and again. His hand dipped back into her bodice again, grasping and squeezing the flesh of her breast, and Sansa braced herself against the bench with both hands, the cold stone heightening the hot rush of being fucked. Snow’s other arm was around her waist, the unnatural strength of his bestial aspect matching the beastly lust he slaked with her body. Slaking the lust he sparked within Sansa herself.

She no longer cared if Joffrey was watching. She no longer cared for anything but the grip on her breast, the hard cock pumping in and out of her randy quim, and the growing tension between her thighs, building and building until –

Sansa moaned helplessly as she climaxed, all but hanging in Snow’s iron grip. Her quim convulsed and clenched, and Snow snarled as he unleashed his seed, gushing like lava inside her.

Sansa’s head whirled with pleasure, until she felt the touch of cloth on her now-empty quim, delicately cleaning up the excess juices of their coupling. The hand on her breast had been withdrawn, though the mound of flesh ached satisfyingly, and would probably be bruised tomorrow. As her skirts were carefully pulled down and tugged to hang correctly, Sansa stood up, and turned around. Her husband stood there, moonlight falling across his cleanly-shaved jaw, his hair short and almost-straight again... and blushing wildly.

“Um, are you quite alright my love?”

“Oh, yes, darling,” Sansa reassured him as she fastened her bodice. “That was really a very good orgasm.”

Even though he’d been the one to teach her the word orgasm and what it meant, Jon blushed even brighter. “Well, I’m glad of that. But that’s not what I meant.”

Sansa smiled lovingly. “I’m quite alright. I think we’ve satisfied our social obligations for the evening; why don’t we go home so you can take me to bed?”

Even as she spoke, Sansa was filled with longing for just that – Jon his shirtsleeves, bowtie hanging undone around his neck, dismissing her maid to undress her himself. Sweeping her up in his arms to carry her to the four-poster bed, settling her onto the sheets. His hard-muscled body sculpted by candlelight as his own clothes dropped to the carpet. His dark head between her spread thighs as his mouth caressed her womanhood. His worshipful touch as he made love to her, soft as rose petals whispering against her skin.

“Oh, _yes_ ,” Jon exclaimed. “I’ve had more than enough of society. Let’s refuse all callers tomorrow and give the servants a day off. I want no company but yours.”

So Sansa nodded her agreement, took her husband’s arm, and headed home to bed.


End file.
